


Savage Garden’s Song Rules Sometimes (While Yours Always Reign Supreme)

by LouStylesHTommo (Mymelodii)



Series: Dreamscape Vol.28 [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Did I mention obnoxiously sweet pet names?, Established Relationship, Fluffy Smut, Gratuitous prequel to bohemian rhapsody is not a documentary, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Obnoxiously sweet, Over-the-top description of edging, Pandemic as plot device, Size Kink, Too many songs as subplot device, Top!Harry, bottom!Louis, experimental writing styles, literally literary, non-au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:19:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24518302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mymelodii/pseuds/LouStylesHTommo
Summary: The morning after one too many nights of isolation for Louis Tomlinson and his hot & dangerous boy.Aka insane adorkability of Harry Styles after a sulking episode. [wordplay edition]Oh, look. Clifford & Bruce cameos!THANK YOU to Ken for a wonderfulSpanish translation!✨
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Series: Dreamscape Vol.28 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1740700
Comments: 12
Kudos: 50





	1. Underneath Your Clothes is a Love Song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kenxx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kenxx/gifts).



Day 15

36.5 °C

“It’s not a fever,” Harry declares as he leaves the guest bedroom, shoving the thermometer at Louis unnecessarily. He proceeds to make a beeline to their dogs who are play-fighting over a chew toy in the hallway. Clifford barks forlornly once at the loss of a squeaky companion as Harry hauls him and his brother into a long-overdue hug.

“Hey, buddies. You guys miss me? Did your dad give you enough cuddles? He didn’t give me any since I came home two weeks and a day ago,” Harry complains, pouting into soft brown fur. Louis realises that his petulant Harold is actually quite upset when Bruce gives a small whine and licks his agitated boy’s left cheek, getting Clifford to do the same on the right. Combining their efforts for maximum solace, like how they always do anytime Louis cries.

“Oh, Hazza,” Louis murmurs, walking to three of his favourite boys. Then he kneels down to pet the human one’s messy mop soothingly, softly cooing, “Of course, they miss you. I miss you. It’s the reason we were all camped out right in front of your door when there’s a perfectly fine living room downstairs.”

Harry sniffles, turns away from Louis for a second before changing his mind, and shakes his head slightly to get gentle fingers tangled in his hair.

“Why did you add extra eleven hours to my isolation if you miss me as much as you say you do?”

“Precaution, Hazza. Your allergy was really acting up when you first got home. I figured I couldn’t risk getting myself sick too if I wanted to keep taking care of you. So I started the 14-day count after you stopped being literally too hot and dangerous. Besides, it was also sleep-time, I didn’t expect it’d be this hard on you,” Louis explains reasonably.

But his upset Hazza still doesn’t seem to like it very much even when the answer is logical and recommended by NHS.

“Last night was bad when I didn’t get a goodnight kiss before bed. I kept thinking a kiss would be really nice after a fortnight of being home but never touching you. Then you rejected me–”

Louis cuts him off with a sweet chaste kiss. A dreamy brush of soft lips against his that ends way too soon in Harry’s opinion. He’s about to make another fuss when Louis graciously gives him an astounding offer.

“Let me make it up to you then, babe. Would you like it if I run you a bath, wash your hair, and rub your back? Maybe do a manicure and pedicure after?”

Louis smiles indulgently at Harry’s emphatic nods. His happier Hazza gently shoos Clifford and Bruce away after thanking them quietly, ever so considerate. Then Louis’s hazardous Haz awkwardly tries to stand without falling flat on his face, as their good doggies wouldn’t leave him alone. Not until he promises them that he’s okay now, honestly, pinky swear.

Louis will never stop wanting to dote on his softhearted Bambi, no matter how tall he’s grown, or how sulky he can be at times.

Harry is legitimately ascending to a higher plane of existence right now. The glittery hot water with zesty aroma of sweet citrus feels heavenly on his skin. He leans back against Louis’s chest after receiving a divine therapeutic massage, sighing, “This is so much better than what I’d imagined coming off isolation. Thank you, sweetcheeks.”

Louis chuckles, drops an upside-down kiss on Harry’s forehead, and obligingly brings back their nostalgic pet name. “Anything for you, babycakes.”

Harry’s eyes sparkle with mischief as he looks up at Louis and asks, “Can we postpone the mani-pedi so I could do something else I want first?”

Louis raises his eyebrow at his troublemaking Harold’s roguish smile, “What is it? Why do I have a feeling saying yes would be a bad idea?”

Louis knows his suspicion must be on point when his wheedling Hazza brings out the irresistible doe eyes, “Pretty please, baby? I promise you’ll like it.”

Louis gets his answer soon enough with their positions reversed on their dry cool bed, Harry’s kisses littering on the nape of his neck and along his shoulders, roaming hands of a pretended masseur spreading his thighs apart. Strong legs he’s sitting on bend at the knees, slotting up between his open thighs to keep them that way. The move effectively draws Louis further into Harry’s amorous embrace.

Louis wiggles his hips to acknowledge an obvious stiffy poking his backside. He turns his shoulder around and glances at his excited Haz whose beautiful eyes hold the glint of ardent adoration so obvious. Louis can’t help but feel positively sexy and truly desired. 

With a clear agenda to twist his love-struck husband around his little finger some more, Louis subtly tilts his face to gaze at his unsuspecting Hazza from under his eyelashes. His lips pucker up just so to enhance the come-hither look. He may have felt otherwise silly, if it isn’t for his instantly bewitched Haz who gives him an honestly flattering besotted smile, which is followed by an undeniably passionate kiss. 

So while it is quite embarrassing how enamoured Louis is of his handsome husband, he figures it’s okay to admit as long as his other half is absolutely smitten with him too. 

“You could’ve just said you wanted to fuck, Haz. It’s not like you’re gonna get a no,” Harry boldly muffles Louis’s further remarks with his palm and chides playfully, “Don’t be so crude, Lou. Sex is only half the story.”

Louis grabs his rascal of a husband’s audacious hand off his face then gnaws at it vindictively. But his impish Haz holds him close with one arm and promptly fondles his ticklish side. So Louis’s subsequent bites morph into a fit of the giggles while he squirms, breathlessly calling for mercy. 

Or moaning and gyrating on his husband’s hefty boner, really. 

His witty Hazza hisses an ironically telling, “Should’ve known revenge backfires both way.” And Louis fires back, “Should’ve just fucked me when you’ve got the chance.”

Harry freezes on the spot.

Louis blinks in confusion for a second. 

He replays the last thing he said in his mind and realises that Harry must’ve misinterpreted it as Louis saying he didn’t feel like having sex anymore.

And his kindhearted Hazza takes consent very seriously.

Genuinely sincerely so.

Louis twists around to look at his unmoving husband and finds his most beloved Hazza looking like he’s about to cry.

Not just in a disappointed way of ‘Now I’m hard without a prospect of getting any’ either. Because he actually flinches before Louis can touch him with careful hand.

“Oh no, babe.”

Louis only gets off Harry’s lap to quickly turn around and plop down on his rightful throne once again, facing the monarch of his heart this time. He cradles his downcast Hazza’s cheeks with both hands, leans in, and kisses unresponsive lips once.

“It was a joke. A horrible one. I’m sorry,” Louis’s second kiss is hesitantly reciprocated. Harry still looks incredibly unsure and vulnerable. Louis feels his heart clenching in sympathy.

They’ve both learnt the hard way when they broke up and had to pick up the pieces alone before getting back together, how it’s so easy to be unintentionally cruel and hurt each other badly. Especially when they don’t speak enough. And Harry has already cried once this morning because he didn’t expect to stay in a separate bedroom last night, instead of getting a goodnight kiss he really had been looking forward to.

“I’m so sorry, darling. I should’ve realised it sounded an awful lot like a thoughtless brush-off with really really bad timing. That wasn’t what I meant at all. Not in the slightest. Honest.” Louis’s earnest explanation gets his reassured Hazza to kiss him back more firmly this time and Louis breathes a little easier.

“It was supposed to be funny because we rarely get alone time. And, like, you should’ve just fucked me. ‘Cause now you have a runway to walk in Paris and I have an interview in NYC.”

Louis is glad to see that his husband’s lighthearted smile has made a comeback. Harry is kissing him first now, potential crisis of heartrending miscommunication thankfully averted.

“I still think you should fuck me even if we have nowhere to be tomorrow, Haz. I miss having you inside.”

With an admission that sounds a lot like a tease, Louis has Harry eager and untroubled in his arms again. Their kisses become a lot more French and keep on multiplying. When they have a long enough pause for breath, Louis tacks on an inviting entreaty, “Wanna feel your cock, Haz. Won’t you give it to me?”

There’s mischief dancing in Harry’s brilliant eyes again and Louis welcomes his husband’s prankish tendency with a quick soft kiss, “Tell me, whatever scheme you’re concocting. I’ll let you get away with it. Anything for you, remember?”

Harry nods enthusiastically, gives Louis one of his beaming smiles, and asks jubilantly, “Anything? Promise?”

Louis should’ve probably thought things through before answering with an affirmative. But it’s too late now and Harry is grinning like a Cheshire Cat as he makes his request,

“Please turn around and sit down on my lap again. I’d like to finger you open. And then, when you’re all nice and ready, I want to see you ride my cock.”

“Oh, okay,” Louis has an inkling that this isn’t all Harry has planned. But he obediently does as he’s told because he almost made his lovely Hazza cry, and Louis wants to make up for it.

Besides, Harry’s request is to give Louis what he has been pining for since the last time they slept together anyway. Before their jobs put them on different continents and then precautionary isolation put them in separate bedrooms.

It’s not like Louis would ever turn his husband down if it weren’t for a global apocalyptic episode IRL.

They both settle back down to how they were situated before their tickle war. But instead of getting right down to business, Harry cuddles Louis close and gives him a whole bunch of caresses and kisses. Louis hums into a lot of those kisses and plays with his doting husband’s curly hair, which Louis has just contributed to its softness and citrusy scent that reminds him of sweet summertimes. 

Eventually, a slick finger prods lightly at his rim and starts rubbing in small circle. Louis cants his hips helpfully to give his husband an easier access while he kisses his sweet Hazza’s–I can’t change–tattoo on the wrist of an elegant hand he’s holding, thereby cordially giving their anchor some love too.

Then Harry lets go of his hand and presses a couple of fingers on Louis’s lower lip before gently pushing them into his mouth. Louis feels ridiculously giddy because his husband still remembers that he loves getting finger-fucked both ways all at once.

Which is quite bizarre because they’ve been together for almost a decade now, so why would Louis even think that Harry could forget? Not that he ever really thought about it. But the way he feels so loved and cared for by this one gesture is unreal.

Mindful of how it has been unprecedented weeks of unforeseen chastity, Harry doesn’t hurry through their preparations. He carefully takes his time and liberal amount of their favourite lube to get his petite darling’s delicate body ready. Adding each intrusive finger at a leisurely pace. Keeping Louis’s comfort and contentment an utmost priority.

It’s unsurprising that tender resumption of their physical intimacy has Louis quickly craving for more. He’s practically gagging for it by the time he hears a husky sultry whisper from his loving husband, “Think you can take my cock now, baby?”

Louis nods impatiently, only to immediately mewl in protest as his inner wall involuntarily clamps down and clings on tight to Harry’s long fingers as they make to leave his sensitised prostate. His expectant contentment abruptly gives way to mild frantic anxiety.

“No, no, no, Hazza, wait, wait.”

“Okay, I’ll wait. Lou, I’ll wait,” Harry quickly gives his fretting sweetheart a definite reassurance, his three fingers fastened inside Louis still.

“I’ve got you, baby. It’s alright. You’re okay,” Harry makes sure his voice stays gentle and warm. He soothes his tense creature further by caressing his hand down from his spouse’s jawline to vulnerable throat to where Harry can feel thumping heartbeats under his palm, while Louis whines in disappointed trepidation, “I can’t, Haz. I can’t. I want it. I want you so bad. But I can’t.”

“I know, honey. I know you’re not ready. It’s okay. We’ll take it real slow. I’m never gonna hurt you, baby. Only gonna love you. Take care of you. I’ll be good to you, Lou,” Harry keeps murmuring sweet-nothings to calm his frustrated angel down, his hand wandering lower to wrap around gorgeously hardened cock where he deliberately pampers his beloved with long, twisting strokes.

Eventually, he mollifies his lustful creature’s needy body enough to ensure that sliding his fingers out won’t cause even the slightest pain. And he does so, in due time.

Then Harry’s eyes fixate on a mouthwatering sight of soaking wanting hole fluttering desperately with nothing to clutch around. He is only startled out of his reverie by his drop-dead-gorgeous spouse’s pitiful whimper, “Hazza, please. Why won’t you do something?” And so Harry apologetically nuzzles behind his darling’s ear.

Louis whimpers again. Then he whimpers some more, but this time, in shivery gratification as a familiar generous girth finally breaches him. With the help of gravity, Louis’s deprived body greedily devours his dreamy husband’s hard length, chasing away the hollow feeling inside all at once.

Sensational visuals of his ravishing doll readily sinking down on his rigid shaft, taking him in to the hilt with no hesitation, have Harry squeeze his eyes shut and firmly will himself not to come. He’s not willing to risk ending their sensual subliminal reacquaintance too soon.

Meanwhile his only angel’s rippling heat gives his surrounded cock the most erotic massage, unknowingly undermining Harry’s valiant effort to grasp at self-control.

Harry gets his head back in the game as Louis minutely shifts around, presumably to find the best angle to ride him. When his enchanting little minx settles down and throws him a coquettish smile over a delicate shoulder, Harry leans in close for a soft sweet kiss.

It’s one of their small yet significant established rituals. This one is how they tell each other without actually saying, ‘I’m going to show you a really good time, because you’re the best I’ve ever had, and I love you very much.’

Then the loveliest devil in the sheets starts slow-dancing with rotating hips to an imaginary rhythm. Persuasive siren song created to lure Harry in with a little taste of paradise. So seductive and alluring, yet unnecessary. Because Harry has already been waiting on the ocean floor,

Has long since given up the palace by the shore for a sunken pirate ship,

Has gladly jumped of the cliff and fallen headlong into murky water,

Has chosen a delicate pearl over brilliant stars.

Has been drowning for so long in lust and love alike that he doesn’t care if he can’t breathe in air anymore.

But breathtaking imagery painted behind his eyelids has nothing on reality. Not when Louis cries out,

“Haz. Babe, look.”

(When they’re in public, Harry has to tell himself not to look, ‘Do not check Louis out. Do not look at his best bubble-butt ever. Stop looking at such a great bum, feels so nice in my hands too. Oh for god’s sake. Stop. Looking.’)

So now, Harry looks because they are at home alone and Louis said so. And Harry just.

Die. Dead. Gone. Knocking on Heaven’s Door. Because this is it. This is what life is all about.

“Haz, you said you wanted to see. Why do you keep closing your eyes? Stop it. Look at me, Hazza.”

Harry knows what he will see when he looks because he already has the phenomenal image burned into his retinas. 

Of Louis’s hands grasping his own bubble-butt, spreading the twin glorious globes apart, giving Harry an unobstructed view of where their bodies join together.

Of glistened rim stretched tight around his rigid cock.

Of another inch of his cock getting swallowed up by the little body of the love of his life.

Of the two seconds before Harry screwed his eyes tight shut. Because for the love of all that is holy, “I’m literally going to come the second I open my eyes.”

“No, you’re not. You’ve got better self-control than that. Stop using literally inappropriately. Look at me, Haz. Open you eyes and look at me.”

Harry digs his fingernails into his own palms and grounds himself by focusing on the pesky pain. Not too long after, once he’s pretty sure that he’s not going to end this before they even really started, he opens his eyes.

And then his brain points out the very obvious as soon as he sees Louis’s arching spine and everything else that Harry will remember until his literal dying day.

Louis has clearly positioned himself just so.

He’s putting on a show.

For Harry.

For Harry alone.

Harry is wholeheartedly convinced that Louis must be deified at once.

“You’re my literal angel,” says Harry with worship and complete sincerity.

But Louis will always be Louis who is simultaneously the divinest and the snarkiest.

“What did I just say about inappropriate use of literally?”

Harry was going to argue that he said ‘literal angel’, not ‘literally angel.’ But he gets distracted easily and Harry can’t drag his eyes away from where his possibly mystical creature’s sopping wet rim unsheathes his cock slowly.

There’s a pause, as he feels Louis’s pulsating rim kisses the flared head of his cock on the inside, as if to say goodbye.

Then it’s as if Louis’s legs give out and gravity takes over, his tiny body engulfs Harry’s sizeable cock so quickly that Harry worries if Louis hurts. But a guttural moan tears out of his throat before he could ask. When he could, Louis’s rim is already unsheathing Harry’s cock again. His small miraculous being then proceeds to do the same slowly going up, stop, and drop.

And if Harry literally dies today, he will die a very, very happy man indeed.

He cannot stop watching with rapt attention where Louis’s soaking rim strains to accommodate his shaft. But he tears his gaze away when he realises that he can see Louis’s lovely side profile in the vanity mirror.

The reflections of their rose and dagger tattoos side by side really do look like they belong together and Harry needs to stop thinking he’s so happy he could die. Harry should stay alive to adore his angelic creature for a long, long time.

He’s just admiring Louis’s resplendent countenance in the mirror when, all of the sudden, Harry recognises how the shape of kiss-bruised lips moves around all the muted moans. 

Harry knows his dearest darling keeps quiet because Harry would’ve already come way too soon if he’d had both visuals and sounds. But the visuals alone now have Harry squeezing his eyes shut and digging nails into his own palm again. Because he just saw that Louis also has a voiceless mantra which goes along with the pattern of movement on Harry’s aching cock too.  
  


_Hazza_.

Go up slowly.

Stop.

 _Love you_.

  
Drop. _Oh_.

There’s a folklore reference Harry wanted in Eroda, but it got vetoed out by everyone on his team for no good reason other than, ‘Harry, a Nymph is beautiful, small, and always home. We might as well pour subtlety down the drain if we put him there.’

Subtlety is so fucking overrated when Harry has a literal perfection to sing about.

Suddenly, ever so helpfully, as Harry desperately needs to think about something. Anything. So he doesn’t come as soon as he opens his eyes and sees Louis. His brain reminds him that he has a plan to execute. The one he came up with in the bath. The one he dreamt up as soon as Louis said to him, ‘Anything for you, babycakes.’

With a renewed purpose, Harry opens his eyes and stares intensely at Louis’s reflection in the mirror. They have this weirdly telepathic connection that actually works half the time. Which is basically a coin toss but whatever. When blissed-out blue eyes finally glance at his reflection, Harry grins wickedly.

And then, just as Louis does a double take and loses his pattern, Harry wraps his arms around his tiny darling and pulls Louis in for a hug. Startled, Louis turns to look at him. Then Harry tightens his arms around Louis’s lower belly and his sweetheart moans loud, “Oh, you feel even bigger like this. Oh, Hazza.”

Harry’s touch on Louis suddenly takes a sharp turn from tender and worshipful to fierce and demanding. Like a devoted servant turns wrathful deity. Louis belatedly realises that his husband has wrenched him off magnificent altar to fuck him like a deceitful virgin sacrifice. 

His zealous Hazza thrusts up into him forcefully and assertively continues to do it again. Louis moans louder as rough possessive manhandling goes on and on,

“Oh, this feels like you own me. And you do, babe. I’m really yours. All yours, Hazza. Ah, love you. I love you so much.”

Restrained by an uncompromising embrace, Louis feels like his lovely husband’s cock is downright massive. He’s not afraid to let Harry know either.

“Ah, you feel so big this way. Love your cock, babe. So, ah, so good. Love this. Love you. Ah, Haz. Oh, babe.”

Louis knows he must sound like the sluttiest Nympho alive. But he also knows that his extremely exclusive audience, the one and only, loves it. Because Harry, who seems hellbent on fucking Louis into stratosphere, thrives on genuine praises. And Louis thinks his husband is always wonderful. So noises of candid appreciation fall freely.

“Fuck me so well, babe. Fill me up, ah, always. Oh, love it when you get so deep inside, Haz. Like you’re claiming all of me. Ah, babe, feel so good.”

Harry grins like the cat that got the cream when he hears an opening to clearly drive his point home. He makes sure to fuck Louis especially deeper and harder, then asks his unwitting victim, “You feel good when I’m in really deeply?”

Louis mewls his answer so adorably, entirely oblivious to Harry’s devious plot coming into fruition.

“Really really good, Hazza. Ah, you’re so good to me.”

“Then do you _want to lay like this forever_? ‘Cause I _truly madly **deeply** do_.”

Deeply relieved for finally executing his long-awaited scheme, Harry deeply pushes down his deep urge to giggle.

Deeply committed to staying as deep inside Louis as physically possible until the love of his life gets his joke, Harry stops his domineering onslaught into his sweetheart’s exquisite heat and switches to grinding in deeper instead.

Deeply giddy in anticipation, Harry deeply wants Louis to understand it soon. He breathes in deeply, and breathes out slowly, while he waits.

Deeply doubtless, Harry knows Louis will get it any second now. Because he always does. Because they do understand each other.

Because they do belong together,

Truly madly deeply do.

  
  


“Oh my god. Tell me you just impulsively turn the most romantic song into a dirty pun. This must be totally random. I refuse to believe you plan to fuck me for a pun. Holy shit, you fucking did. This is why the sex was only half the story!”

Louis’s horrified exclamations after a stunned silence has Harry cackling like a crazy person. Louis helplessly half-moans at the jostling motion and half-giggles breathlessly at the punchline that completely blindsided him.

The ultimate half of story Harry refused to give away in the very beginning. A pun so bad that it’s good. And Louis can’t believe he actually likes it, just like Harry promised he would.

Unexpectedly, Louis also starts to cry.

(Louis didn’t exactly plan to laugh until he cries but Harry, acting like the maniacal hilarious man that he is, just gives Louis a relief so profound.

Louis figures no one can fault him for being a little melodramatic. Not when it has been fifteen days of constant worries. Just a little over three-hundreds-forty-seven hours now since his Hazza came home with a low grade fever.

In the midst of a terrible pandemic.

To Louis whose track record with sick loved ones is far from great.)

It’s a testament to how attuned Louis’s husband is to his body language when Harry stops laughing and holds him just a little tighter, and wordlessly drops a reassuring kiss on his shoulder. Suddenly, Louis confesses in a rush like he’s ripping off a bandage, “Last night was bad for me too, I was scared.”

(That’s an understatement. Louis had been secretly terrified from the first moment his husband arrived home and they both realized Harry had a temperature.

Even though his Hazza woke up that first morning feeling fine and obediently agreed to stay isolated in the guest bedroom for the required duration, Louis still has myriads of emergency phone numbers for nearby clinics and hospitals saved in his contact list—just in case.

He had called their solicitor on the second day to make sure that all their paperwork is in order and asked her to email him a copy of their Health and Welfare LPAs—just in case.

He had read through all of NHS advice, signed up for text updates, and followed each and every recommendation religiously—just in case.

The list of Louis’s—just in case—goes on and on.)

“Oh, honey,” Harry speaks to him so tenderly that Louis kind of wants to keep crying, just so his Hazza would take care of him with loving devotion in his eyes. But Louis is more or less hugging Harry’s knees while his husband hugs him from behind. Which makes actual continuous eye contacts rather difficult and somewhat awkward.

So when Harry strokes his thumbs on Louis’s hipbones gently and asks, “Would you like to be on your back and let me do all the work instead? Nice and slow?” Louis says yes. Grateful for not needing to admit outright how he’s emotionally exhausted right now and doesn’t feel like taking the lead or getting fucked like a slag anymore.

  
Even though some people would say that sex in missionary position is boring, Louis would argue that those people are just doing it wrong. There’s nothing boring about feeling his husband rocks into his body with deep measured thrusts while looking into earnest eyes, only to find infinite adoration and determined fidelity there.

Louis hopes that faithful regard and overflowing affection he feels for his Hazza are as plain to see too.

With his wonderful husband pinning him down, giving it to him exactly how he wants it, and making him feel like the most cherished treasure, a piece of music floats to the forefront of Louis’s mind.

He can understand why his Hazza would find lyrical puns fascinating. Some lines are just so appealing because of their relevance. The captivating pull of such a filthy inside joke is also unbearably attractive. Louis abruptly wants to know if he could get his husband turned on later by simply turning on a specific song, no striptease involved.

So Louis spontaneously decides to go all in and leverages his legs crossing behind Harry’s back to encourage his husband to go faster and get a bit rough. Once his Hazza gets the message, Louis’s dear husband fucks him harder, ruining him in the best possible way. 

He keeps moaning and mewling his wanton approval until he’s so close to landing on cloud nine. That’s when Louis throws down his bastardized lines of Shakira’s love song to start a mic-drop challenge breathlessly,

“Haz, I’m glad _you’re the man I chose._ Are you _my territory and all the things I deserve_?”

Then Louis throws his head back, keening in exhilarating pleasure, and comes.

With liquid pearl smeared between their intertwined bodies, Harry groans, his hard cock anchored breathtakingly deep inside Louis’s drenched heat by fierce clench of euphoric contraction. Electrifying spasms follow after a few heartbeats, as always.

Harry can certainly dream up many more winning proses to creatively describe how amazing Louis’s climax feels to him.

Surely.

Probably.

Maybe.

If only it weren’t for his brain gearing up to short-circuit.

He knows he’s definitely getting an earful later for leaving such a vicious love-bite on Louis’s tempting throat like a thirsty horny vampire. He can already imagine his snarky dearest going, ‘It’s so fucking high up. It’ll still be visible from space even with my roll neck jumper, Harold.’

Anyone who catches a glimpse of his fervent design, even through a video call, can never mistake it for anything else other than a giant neon sign that screams: Back the Fuck Off. This devastatingly mesmerising man is absolutely, unquestionably, irrevocably Taken. He’s clearly Not Interested in anyone who isn’t the person that gave him this vivid reminder of a Really Good Time.

With the slightly narcissistic green-eyed monster in his brain shouting a gleeful Mine! Mine! Mine! Harry comes, his elbows locking in a habitual endeavor not to collapse on top of his precious spouse’s small frame.

“Haz,” Louis mewls beatifically in lingering haze of a spectacular orgasm, tugging at his husband insistently until a familiar reassuring weight rests fully on top of him.

(Louis doesn’t know it yet. But they will temporarily become a useless heap of giggling mess. Each attempt to kiss each other after their laughters die down will end in a preposterous failure. Because one of them will just start chortling once more, and thus restart the vicious cycle of ‘too busy laughing to kiss but cannot stop trying, because you’re very adorable, and I love you so much’ all over again.

Although Louis will be the one to start giggling uncontrollably, Harry is most definitely the naughtiest instigator. Not only because he started it mid-coitus. But also because of his extremely delighted delayed responses to Louis in their wondrous afterglow.

Then instead of slowly fading, their afterglow will morph into a fantastic flirtatious foreplay for an equally fantastic fanciful fornication. Because roleplaying is a thing they do as well as wordplay. And neither of them can resist _looking for something dumb to do. Hey baby, I think I wanna marry you._

And they will live happily ever after.

_This I promise you_.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up next is a coda which is separated from this main one because it’s made of pure unadulterated puns.


	2. Meet Me in the Afterglow, Lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peculiar Puns and One Assumption
> 
> I apologize in advance for some song references that aren’t italicised. Here’s [a Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/11W7xJ0LDoVELStq8sgf9S?si=iOhg573QQ5OLEK3M5IJitQ) of all the songs in this story in order of appearance.  
>   
> Also, please keep in mind that Keepmoat Stadium is home to Doncaster Rovers Football Club.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OT5 Alternative Titles:
> 
> He’s Been My Figurative Queen Since He Was Literally Sixteen.
> 
> On the Throne Since 18, He is the King of My Heart.
> 
> The High Walls have Fallen. Get a Fine Line to Bind History Book.
> 
> Fine Line in the Walls are Our Hidden Library Doors.
> 
> We Play Acrobats On A Fine Line Between Our Walls.

When Harry’s thought processes come back to usual operation, he can see happiness and amusement dancing in Louis’s bright eyes. Harry grins from ear to ear as they settle down for a cuddle and he remembers what Louis said right before ecstasy took over everything.

With endearing boyish look, like Harry knows Louis would choose this song to play along with him, and so Harry had drawn up a plan to answer in the back of his mind accordingly, a long time ago, just waiting on the tip of his tongue for Louis to jog his memory.

“[Y](https://soundcloud.app.goo.gl/MsXE4bT43pGtqMcu5)ou’re the reason for so many tattoos  _underneath_ my _clothes_. We’ve already promised each other  _an endless story_ , so I’m forever your  _territory_. _You’re beautiful, it’s true_. Anything you wear, _little black dress walking into the room_ or _changing into something red_ , you always pull it off. Even _Versace on the floor._ Because you know I _only brought this dress so you could take it off_. Whenever we have _such a good time_ on _Tuesday night and I want you so bad, you put your hands on me in my skintight jeans._ ”

That barrage of references gets his so golden sunflower bursting into peals of laughter, basking in enraptured surprise. Harry feels like a child who just finds out that Christmas has arrived early. Because he still has one very important line left in his undoubtedly uproarious lyrical joke. And he’d bet everything he has that his sweet creature’s reaction will be the greatest gift to humanity.

(It’s him. He’s humanity. Harry. Whose last name on everything from billboards to albums should be Tomlinson already. Or they could hyphenate if keeping their brand intact is a must. Harry won’t be picky. He’s okay with Harry Styles-Tomlinson and Louis Tomlinson-Styles. It’s just that ‘Louis Styles and Harry Tomlinson’ has a really nice ring to it. They’ve legalized this way for a reason.)

“[S](https://soundcloud.app.goo.gl/pQhwcAUcugrhwqqZ9)o I hope you know that being _the one that got away_ with calling me _a nightmare on the dance floor_ is the very least you  _deserve for being such a good girl, honey_.”

His whole world continues to laugh joyfully. And even though that was meant to be his actual punchline, Harry is nothing but adaptable if it’s to keep Louis happy in his arms.

“[I](https://soundcloud.app.goo.gl/2otHJsTzsuuDs6pj8) want to _shout it from the rooftops, write it on the skyline_ that _it’s all about you_ every time I sing, _she's a good girl. She's such a good girl. She's a good girl. She feels so good_.” 

Harry waggles his eyebrows, pleased with himself for finally referencing his own song. Very pleased when Louis pulls him in for a kiss and mumbles sweet melodious response while keeping light brushes of his lips on Harry’s,

“[I](https://soundcloud.app.goo.gl/tz1SemphhQXESNam8) forgive you for implying in that song that I _left a small town, a million miles from LA,_ because I couldn’t get a proper job there. _You’re the best thing that’s ever been mine_ for turning _anywhere away with you_ into a family home.”

Harry giggles because Louis is really playing up the music jokes with him, just basically called them family, and it feels all kind of fabulous.

He’s also really proud of Carolina. It’s a lot sneakier than Olivia. Their identical tweets will outlive them on the internet. But their debate while taking a short walk from ‘an office for engineers’ in Carolina Court to ‘a workplace for athletes’ in Keepmoat Stadium would only ever exasperate a few audience who were unfortunate enough to hear their popstar-esque warped worldview on ‘what constitutes a proper job.’

“A penny for your thoughts, babe.”

(Harry has been idolizing the light in sky-blue eyes. He loves the crinkles by them when Louis smiles. Has loved them since he was sixteen.

He knows the way that Louis dances in front of their friends. Knows how they usually end a night out at home, kissing in the kitchen like it’s a dance floor.

Harry is well aware that he writes too many songs about Louis. He also knows himself well enough to accept that he will continue to put different names into his songs. Because he cannot for the life of him come up with a way to incorporate Chop Suey into any of them. And Louis is very hard to rhyme. Which is understandable because Louis is one of a kind.

The one that always pull them through. The one that Harry belongs to. The only one he dreams of. The one who still kisses him goodnight. Except when he has a flu.

Some people idolize him. They think Harry Styles is hot and dangerous. Figuratively, of course.

Louis thinks he’s figuratively hot too. But to his sweet spouse, Harry is only ever dangerous when he was literally medically hot. He scared Louis to pieces by coming home with a bad allergy. The thought of Harry becoming seriously ill is a major threat to the fractured fragility in Louis’s heart which has been trying to fix itself frantically, so that Louis could be strong enough to readily take care of Harry during isolation, and after, because Louis loves him.

It’s pretty obvious that Louis wants Harry for life. Depending on how fond he is of Harry in the moment, he thinks of Harry as his Hazza/Harold/Haz/husband.

Harry only knew of the last one recently, when a little bird told Harry that Louis had been talking about him on the phone. In a not-so-direct quote, “ _So he called me up and he's like,_ I really love my husband. _And I'm like I just I mean_ this is too adorable, _you know. Like,_ he tried to thank us for helping you plan the surprise. But he couldn’t stop gushing about how you’re so good to him. You two are the most extra #couplegoal _like, ever._ ”)

Harry gets so lost inside Louis’s eyes. He didn’t even notice his eyes have been saying things, as in thinking out loud with vocal chords and all. But Louis brings him out of a daydream with kisses, or more like suppressing giddy laughter against Harry’s lips.

And what makes Louis beautiful is why he even wanna pause his giggles in the first place. When he finally succeeds, he gives Harry his fondest smile. Then he actually sings Fireproof,

“ _Nobody knows you, baby, the way I do. And nobody loves you, baby, the way I do. It’s been so long. It’s been so long._ ”

Louis bites on his own lower lips and Harry doesn’t know if this come-hither look is intentional, but he moves to kiss Louis anyway. Louis intercepts him with a gentle finger on his lips though. Because he’s apparently not done filling Harry’s stomach with butterflies.

“ _Still somehow, you’re perfect now._ ”

Louis just delivered his punchline by singing his own song and then kisses Harry like he wants to make sure that Harry will never feel like he’s alone ever again.

Harry is so happy to be home—it feels as if he could fly.

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 💚💙 Thank you for reading! If you like it, please poke a Kudo or leave a comment to let me know ✨
> 
> -Mymelodii 💕🏡


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